Gray

Last night, I took another walk along my old beaten purple path. Resurrecting old actors, pointing the spotlight from one old face to the next. I saw myself then more clearly. Or maybe I thought I did. All I knew is that some revelations are just to bitter to swallow. And some should remain unknown. What I didn't know is why I asked the question? I'll be lying if I pretend that I NEVER wanted to ask 'em on the first place. Curiosity, as always, killed the cat. And that cat was me, no need to spell that out.

Nostalgia is an even harder pill to swallow than the unknown. Bitter melancholy. Great moments turned into sad memories. What's there to write about? What's left to be explained? None I guess. But still I HAD to ask. Clamp my mouth shut will yah?

Something is definitely wrong with my hands...my fingers...the entire structure, the muscles that make the system move and the brain that controls the entire thing. Too much grip there. Too hard a grip. Too much of everything, as always. I told him I'm too much of everything. He told me I'm absolutely balanced, but things can't always be balanced, something's are meant to end up on top. Up or down. Left or right. Yes or no. I'm the biggest gray area there is. I'm entirely made of gray.